


Myxa

by celluloid



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Gen, Pen Pals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-05
Updated: 2014-10-05
Packaged: 2018-02-19 23:24:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2406707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/celluloid/pseuds/celluloid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hannibal is arrested. He misses Will. He starts writing to him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Myxa

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for the Hannibal kink meme, uh, just back in March! I said I may continue it back then, and that offer still stands, but isn't likely at this point in time. This is one of those things that might be able to get by with sporadic updates, though.
> 
> Original prompt/fill: http://hannibalkink.dreamwidth.org/3819.html?thread=6633451#cmt6633451

The last person who came to see him was Alana.

She appeared shaken every time she came by, parking the plain chair in front of his cell. Some days she simply sat there, knuckles white, and stared at him. On others she talked.

She never asked why. Hannibal never prompted her.

She was struggling to connect the two Hannibals she knew. He had no issue with this. He was straightforward with her. It would do no harm to appease her as best she wanted, and not only did he enjoy her company, but drinking in her emotions was a welcome exercise.

Alana wasn’t his favourite, of course, but she was lovely in her own way. She dealt with him in a way no others dared to. (She was the only one who even tried to deal with him anymore. The only one worth his time, at least.)

The company was welcome, until he had pushed it too far.

“Hannibal,” Alana said, smoothing her skirt as she sat down.

He nodded in her direction. “Alana,” he returned the greeting. “How are you?”

Alana stared at him, thin lipped. Hannibal dipped his chin in acknowledgment.

“And tell me – how is Will?”

The indifference Alana was fighting to keep in her eyes exploded in a rage of indignation. She stood and moved the chair back off to the side before returning to stand directly in front of him.

“Goodbye, Hannibal.”

The last Hannibal heard of her were her footsteps going down the hall. He waited, and then called after her, “Farewell, Alana.”

The footsteps stopped at the sound of his voice. He detected a faint hitching noise that lasted roughly a minute before they resumed, faster than before; and thus, his correspondence with Alana Bloom had ended.

He hadn’t spoken Will’s name aloud since carving his abdomen.

 

Hannibal spent his days either sketching or exploring his mind palace, revelling in past creations. It was enjoyable until he came across the bodies of young girls mounted on antlers.

He felt a sharp pang of loss that surprised him, one that didn’t fade over the days, but instead grew.

Antlers. Clocks. Dogs.

Dogs suddenly invading his mental space were far too much.

 

On paper, charcoal was malleable, but unpredictable. In his hands, it was brittle. And it was dark.

It was perfect.

Hannibal found himself in an obsessive mood, sketching Will over and over. Their first meeting. His disheveled mornings. Killing Garrett Jacob Hobbs, with blood all over his hands and face. Smiling. Seizing. Broken. Imprisoned. Dark.

He recreated their history, right up until the last time he saw him, his dear Will’s blood all over his hands, now stained black with dust.

 

“Frederick,” Hannibal began.

“Dr. Chilton,” Chilton corrected, smiling, standing tall with his cane.

“Frederick,” Hannibal continued, “I require a favour. One I am sure you would be more than happy to assist.”

“Oh?” Chilton smiled, and Hannibal longed to rip those lips from that smirking face, to gouge out those self-important eyes and eat his heart raw then and there—

“I have a friend I wish to correspond with,” Hannibal said, “only I do not know how to reach him.”

Chilton wrinkled his nose. “Return addresses are present on all your fan mail,” he said, spitting out the penultimate word. “You don’t need my help to write back.”

Hannibal did not show the frustration slowly building up inside. He didn’t bother with most of that mail, something that irritated Chilton to no end. “I said a _friend_ ,” he replied, waiting for his current landlord to catch up.

It took a few moments, but the slow grin spreading itself across Chilton’s face signalled his acknowledgment. “Will Graham,” he said, almost wistfully. “I suppose you don’t know where he is, do you?”

“I require his address if I am to write to him.”

“No, _I_ require his address if you are to write to him.” Any means Chilton could take in attempt to enforce his dominance, he would. “I’m not sure he would be so receptive to you, though.”

“He will,” Hannibal responded in a tone that politely suggested finality.

“You tried to kill him.”

“He tried to kill me.”

Chilton sniffed. “And that’s how you define friendship, is it?”

“As it is your duty to inspect my incoming and outgoing mail, you would have to read my letters to him. You would also have to read his replies to me. You would have a front row seat to the correspondence between myself and Will Graham.”

At that, Chilton’s eyes lit up. “I’ll see what I can do.”

An hour later Hannibal was given soft paper and hard charcoal, with the promise that whatever he wrote would go directly to Will.

 

_Dear Will,_

_I hope I find you well._

_I suspect our imprisonments contained many similar elements. After all, we have been accused of the same murders. The cells are of similar circumstance, and we have now had the same psychiatrist. He encourages me to write to you, in fact._

_I have not, however, been so fortunate as to visit the therapy cage I so often saw you occupy. I am rarely permitted to leave my cell for any purpose. It is at least a little disheartening. I would like to explore every aspect of your confinement for myself._

_I’m afraid that otherwise I haven’t much news to share with you. Our dear friend Alana came frequently to see me, but unfortunately has been unable to drop by lately. Say hi for me if you can, would you?_

_While Alana is a wonderful conversational partner, she is not you, unfortunately. I do miss our talks._

_I hope your wound has healed well. Rest assured, mine certainly has._

_Hannibal Lecter_

 

“Has Will moved?” Hannibal asked weeks later.

“You mean, is he no longer in the near area? No,” Chilton sniffed, sounding disinterested. “He isn’t going to reply.”

“Where is he now?”

Chilton smiled. “You know I can’t tell you that.” His voice came across so smooth – Hannibal wished to rip his vocal chords out.

 

_Dear Will,_

_I was reminded today of a human cello. You remember that case, do you not? A killer was serenading another – me, as you now may interpret._

_Do you recall your concern for me? It was touching, albeit unnecessary._

_What is it you do now? Are you still at Jack’s beck and call? Do your forensic friends still make use of your unique insights? Do you continue to save lives, even though you were built for something much greater?_

_I reflect on that a lot. I did serenade you as well, after all. It was a lovely song, designed to guide you in the right direction._

_You are, after all, my friend, Will, and I wish for nothing but your happiness, even now._

_Hannibal Lecter_

 

He was sketching a forest of antlers, Will Graham’s body impaled upon them.

Chilton observed the piece from the safety of the bars. “Frustrated, are we, Hannibal?”

 

_Dearest Will,_

_Do you recall the warmth of somebody else’s blood? Whether killing, saving, or consuming?_

_You must remember my cooking. I know you have never had any better._

_Are you lonely with nothing but your dogs, or do your ghosts keep you company as well?_

_Recall that a deer’s antlers are thought to have miraculous healing properties. If you are feeling unwell – if an old wound is nagging at you, perhaps – they may be of assistance._

_Otherwise, charcoal works wonderfully, should you have consumed something harmful. I certainly hope you have not, however, but unfortunately I have not been around to look after you._

_I suspect you may be ailing as you have not written back to me. That, or our common psychiatrist may be inclined to play far too big a part than what he may be capable of. It can be difficult for others to keep up with you, although that has certainly been explored, has it not?_

_You know you will always have me for such endeavours._

_It is rude, after all, to ignore a friend._

_Hannibal Lecter_

 

A single, wrinkled page caught Hannibal’s eye as he sorted through his mail. The paper had been balled up, flattened out, and worried so much it was absurdly soft to the touch and covered in shadows.

Hannibal delicately picked it from the pile.

_It’s rude to constantly harass somebody who clearly has no interest in talking to you._

_You ass._

_WG_

_P.S. Fuck you._

Hannibal smiled.


End file.
